Eleven

No one else I've met here speaks this casually about revenge and killing. Even Joel will couch it in euphemisms and conspicuous silence. I keep a low enough profile (I still wear long sleeves to keep people from asking questions, even though it doesn't matter here). The information I share is always vague, just about me, never Joel or the world we come from. I walk an invisible line, its milestones ever-changing. I want to relate to these people and I can't.

El, at least, gives me a place to start.

"What does that mean?" I work on it a second and take an educated guess. "He's from before." A vendetta older than her time in Darrow. Badass.